Her Master's Touch (24 page)

Elizabeth laughed aloud at his wrong
assessment. "The women in this room are most definitely not envying
my beauty," she quipped. "What they see is a dashing pirate king
whose male assets are clearly evident beneath his temptingly tight
breeches, and who they want in their beds instead of the flaccid,
sexless popinjays at their sides." She gave him a playful smile and
waited for his response.

Peering down at her with smoldering eyes, he
said in a sober voice, "If you want this marriage to remain
unconsummated so you can have sole title to
Shanti Bhavan
,
Elizabeth, I suggest you stop the teasing."

Elizabeth wondered if perhaps she'd carried
her charade a little too far. But, no worry. There was time to set
him straight. The evening was far too young to burden herself with
figurative consequences. "But it's all in fun, certainly you know
that," she said. "However, I
will
stop the teasing while you
escort me around the dance floor."

Damon said nothing, only covered her hand
with his and started around the floor, while she nodded and smiled
at couples as they passed, as if Damon were the pirate king who
reigned supreme, and she was his queen. As they continued to stroll
around the floor while waiting for the music to begin, Elizabeth
was vividly aware of eyes on them—not direct stares, but subtle
looks, snatched glances, raised eyebrows. Tongues
were
wagging. But then, she was the only gypsy queen at the ball who
looked gypsy, and she was promenading around the dance floor with
the only pirate king who looked capable of commanding a crew of
hard-edged buccaneers.

Deciding to ignore the scandalmongers and
leave them to their tittle-tattle, she looked up at Damon, and
said, "The impression I got when I told you about this little
social gathering was that you'd sooner be drawn and quartered than
subjected to the indignities of arriving here as a pirate king.
What made you change your mind?"

Damon peered down at her, the intensity in
his eyes deepening as he said, "I thought I'd better come protect
you from yourself."

Elizabeth gave him an impish grin. "Were you
afraid that the wild gypsy girl you wrestled to the ground at the
horse fair would surface and create a stir?"

Damon patted her hand. "Something like
that."

The music started, and automatically
Elizabeth turned into his arms. As he guided her around the dance
floor to a slow waltz, the feel of his hand moving up and down her
spine was a heady reminder of the first and last time she'd danced
with him. Images of that ill-fated evening unfolded in her mind.
Disguised as a prince from the Punjab, she'd been drawn to the
sight of him, even while a slow awareness was beginning to dawn.
From that point on, he'd made her life a living hell. Which was
why, she reminded herself, she was dressed the way she was, and
behaving as she was. A reminder
again
that turn around was
fair play.

However, after several dances, she'd had
enough pointed stares to last a lifetime. The entire evening had
been a mistake. Why she'd accepted Lady Bourke's invitation she
couldn't explain, other than she'd missed some of the pageantry
she'd come to know while living in London. Returning to India, with
the heat, and the bugs, and the varmints, and the endless servants
running her life made her long for some normalcy. But tonight was
definitely not normal. And she'd had her fill of gypsy queens and
pirate kings. Since Damon was also eager to leave, they slipped
away unannounced. Later, she'd extend her thanks to Lady Bourke,
but for now, she just wanted to be away from this place and the
hundreds of eyes on them.

During the ride home, Damon stayed to his
side of the coach, arms folded, head turned away from her as he
silently stared out the window. She reflected on his haughty
demeanor in London and the liberties he'd taken with her in the
coach on the way to the opera, and again on the steamer, when he'd
demanded she strip for his perusal. He'd been in control then, even
trapping her into marriage. But tonight, she'd gained the upper
hand, and she intended to hold onto it. It was the least she
deserved for the humiliation he'd put her through. However, she'd
have him suffer one more penance before the evening was done. One
final act as Eliza Shirazi. Then he could go to the devil.

CHAPTER TEN

Once they arrived back at
Shanti
Bhavan
, Damon escorted Elizabeth across the wide entry to the
base of the stairs that led to the bedchambers, and said,
"Goodnight, Elizabeth. This has been an interesting evening."

Before he could unlatch her hand from his
arm, Elizabeth batted her eye lashes at him, and said, "Aren't you
going to walk me to my bedchamber?"

Damon eyed her dubiously, and replied, "You
know the way."

"True, but the evening isn't yet over,"
Elizabeth said in a silky voice. "If you escort me to my
bedchamber—" she looked up at him and gave him a sultry smile
"—I'll make it worth your while." She trailed a finger slowly down
his chest to his belly, then turned and started up the stairs. She
didn't look back, but she heard his footsteps plodding along behind
and knew he was following her. She couldn't stop the smile that
played about her lips.

Men, she'd learned, were incredibly
predictable.

At the door to her bedchamber, Damon said,
"Alright, I've walked you here, and this is where the evening
ends." He stood straight, arms at his sides, hands curled into
loose fists.

Elizabeth glided her palms up his chest.
"Relax, my lord pirate king, I can tell you've gone all stiff on me
again. But we can fix that." She nudged his shirt open, and planted
a kiss on the tattoo of the rat. Then with the tip of her tongue,
traced a moist path over a flat, male nipple.

In an instant, Damon dragged her against him
and covered her mouth with his. His hand came up to capture her
breast, and between rough, impatient kisses, he said in a ragged
voice, "Why are you doing this?" His lips moved down her neck.

"Doing what?" Elizabeth tipped her head back,
giving him access to her throat.

"Kissing me… teasing me… going bare-breasted
for me?"

"I am not bare-breasted for you. I am
bare-breasted because tonight I am a gypsy," Elizabeth said in a
husky voice as he lowered her bodice and planted a series of kisses
across her breast before clamping his lips on her nipple. She
should
stop him now, she knew—she'd never intended to take
things this far—but maybe she'd let him have his way just a little
longer… let him take pleasure in what he'd never have again…

But when his hands began exploring places
that were already tingling in anticipation, it was all Elizabeth
could do to keep from stripping off her clothes and his and letting
him do the things she'd conjured in her mind, hedonistic fantasies
of his mouth doing precisely what it was doing, and his hand
tucking beneath her skirt and gliding up her leg like it had on the
steamer, and his fingers moving through the slit in her drawers to
arouse her velvety softness… And she'd welcome his silk-clad iron…
and it would incite that private pleasure from deep inside, and
reveal to her the mysteries of womanhood…

She sighed deeply as his fingers did wondrous
things… Umm… ooh… yes…

But the thing that was arousing her now could
not be his fingers, she realized, distractedly, because her legs
were wrapped around his hips, and both of his hands were cupping
her buttocks, and she had no idea when he'd slipped the lacing from
his breeches and released himself. But she didn't care, because
what was beckoning at the core of her femininity was at once soft
and hard and moist and inviting. And that private pleasure was
coming again… ooh… yes… yes... She tipped her hips to welcome him
and felt the pressure as he began to enter…

…
when you come willingly to my bed, gypsy
girl, you’ll come as my mistress or my whore, never as my
wife…

Elizabeth's eyes popped open. Mortified with
her decadent behavior, she moved off Damon, unwrapped her legs from
around him and dropped to the floor, then backed away, while
pulling her blouse up to cover her breasts. She had no idea how
she'd let this happen, but Mara was waiting for him at the
bungalow, so he could bloody well go to her for his release.

He pinned her with a steely gaze. "What the
hell are you trying to do?"

She eyed the
thing
she'd so coveted
moments before, which he was awkwardly stuffing back into his
breeches, and said, "I'm not trying to do anything. Like you said,
this is where the evening ends." She marched into her bedchamber
and slammed the door.

She heard a string of expletives followed by
the sound of boots marching down stairs and the front door crashing
shut. Moments later, the coachman gave the command. But as the
sound of wheels on cobblestones faded, Elizabeth felt empty and
alone. She'd come so close to letting him fill the void that now
haunted her. But the urgency she'd felt when he'd been primed to
unite with her was no longer centered low and deep, but had moved
up to settle in her chest, along with the realization that if she
had consummated the marriage, it would be a loveless marriage in
which Damon would forever have a string of mistresses, and she
would be a mere convenience when his mistress was not around.

But she refused to dwell on Damon and the
means by which his problem would be alleviated this particular
night. There were more crucial things to focus on, like finding the
opal so she could be free of Damon, and the hedonistic effect he
had on her, forever. She had only two weeks to do so or she'd lose
her option to gain title to
Shanti Bhavan
, and she'd have no
choice but to return to her father in disgrace. A woman with a
failed marriage. So her fate, it seemed, depended on what happened
when the gypsies arrived.

And the horse fair was only a week away.

***

In the light of a new day, Elizabeth could
hardly believe her brazenness the night before. Nor could she
understand how she'd managed to fall prey to her own wanton
game—moaning and swooning and allowing Damon to fondle her and
suckle her breast and slip the ties on his breeches and get between
her thighs flesh to flesh as if she were a common courtesan.

But behaving as she had, she'd been too
embarrassed to face Damon for breakfast, so she took it in her
bedchamber and stayed there the rest of the day. But she could not
avoid him indefinitely. So after dressing in a sedate, high-necked
dress, and slicking her hair back into a prim knot at her nape, she
ventured down to dinner. Damon was already at the table when she
entered the dining room, and she knew he'd been there for some time
as his dinner plates had been cleared, and he was topping his meal
with an assortment of sweets.

She took her seat opposite him, and without
acknowledging him, busied herself with selecting from what the
matey was offering on his platter, along with the task of filling
her plate with food she had no desire to eat. After the
matey
returned to the kitchen, Damon wasted no time getting
to the point. "All right," he said, eyeing her across the table.
"What the bloody hell was that all about last night? You were
throwing yourself at me all evening, and we both know you weren't
doing it out of love for your husband."

"I was angry," Elizabeth said, dabbing at the
food. "I wanted to make you suffer for the way you've treated me
from the start."

"Well, you managed that," Damon groused.
"Bloody hell, woman, you had me hard as stone all evening. And
after wearing those damn pirate breeches you had your
durzis
fashion out of… I don't know what—sailcloth maybe—I'm so sore I can
hardly walk."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I feel no need to
apologize. If you suffered some, then so be it. As for the thing
between your legs… I could examine it for you, like you examined my
breast when I was in the bath tub, but that doesn't interest me. So
I guess you'll have to settle for having Cook make a poultice to
put on it."

Damon glared at her. "Keep talking like that
and you'll validate what I said to you on the steamer. And we both
know what that was."

"Maybe you were right then," Elizabeth said,
holding his gaze. "Maybe I am just a whore. But that still doesn't
validate your claim. You said I'd come to you willingly as your
whore, or as your mistress, but never as your wife, when in fact,
I'll never come to you at all."

"You damned near did last night," Damon
reminded her.

"Only because you caught me by surprise,"
Elizabeth quipped.

"Caught you by surprise?" Damon said,
incredulous. "After spending the whole damn evening baring your
breasts for me under that flimsy dress while trying to get inside
my breeches, you claim that my latching onto a ready nipple and
putting what's in my pants between your thighs was a surprise?
Think again, sweetheart. It was no surprise. We were already half
way there, with no protest from you, before you moved off me."

Elizabeth couldn't deny it because it was
true. She'd come dangerously close to giving herself to him
completely because, truth be known, it was what she wanted, though
she didn't know when anger and humiliation had changed to hope and
desire. Feeling tears misting her eyes, she stared at her plate,
refusing to look at him. When she offered nothing more, he said,
"So that's it? No other explanation for last night? Only that you
were angry?"

All she could do was nod, miserably. But in
less than two weeks her agreement with Damon would terminate, and
they'd be done with each other, one way or another.

After a few moments, Damon slapped his napkin
on the table and left the room.

***

Two days later, the gypsies arrived. On the
fringes of the encampment, Elizabeth stood beside Damon, watching a
herd of goats being driven by a retinue of ragtag children from the
fields where the animals had been grazing for the night, toward an
enclave of carts and wagons in the clearing. The encampment smelled
of burnt cow dung mingled with the odors of
chapatties
frying on griddles and curries cooking in pots hanging over coals.
Near the fires, women, who were dressed in worn bodices and faded
parti-colored skirts, sat on the ground making baskets and mats of
osier and bamboo, while gaudily-dressed men with peacock feathers
in their turbans loaded donkey carts with goods to sell at the
horse fair.